Short Stories?

A Thing

They don't know why but, the churning in their stomach and the music that continued to pulse its beat into their head, made them think of blood. Spilling down the red fluid like a flood, watching it pool at their feet, and the metallic scent made their stomach churn. They want to cry as well, covering their hands into their face. They feel like they've been too snappy, too strict, too distant; and that scared them.

It was so distant. Everything is indifferent. Only anger bubbles within. They chat too much in classes. They want to keep their mouth shut but the voices grow louder and louder wanting to make him feel stupid.

It wanted them, him, to feel stupid. They don't know why. Sometimes they mess-up and say 'him' instead of 'them'. Perhaps it's stress.

They feel unbalance, the stress that piled up from work and the fact that it feels like they're becoming mad. Why?

Why?

They don't know. They want to speak but invisible hands clamp around their throat and they can't breathe.

"Help me, help me please"

They feel envy and they don't want to. Everyone seemed so much better, but what about them? They're not good enough. They're not. He's never good enough. They're never good enough.

"Help..."

They don't know whats going on. They smile. They say they are okay.

It takes them a while to realize, that they're not. They're so caught up in this brief paradise, this small thing of joy, that they forget.

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine"

Are they fine?

"I don't know"

They feel dependent on everything. Like they need a list of things to do with precision. They wish they weren't so. They want to be strong to support their loved one, their future married partner.

It's almost Christmas break.

Smile.